Dementia in the DNA

Different traits, mannerisms, and susceptibilities are passed down from generation to generation. In my case, I most resemble my mother’s family. My skin, hair, and eye colors come from them. My warped sense of humor has been bequeathed to me by both my father and my maternal grandmother. My affinity for music and dance and my artistic proclivities come from my mom and her kin. My love of the mountains and rolling farmland and even my nose shape are thanks to my paternal line.

I Say No Way to DNA…Testing, That Is

Growing up, I was taught that it is not ladylike to spit. So, from that perspective alone, I have always been a little leery of DNA testing.

However, decorum aside, I have quite a few reservations about voluntarily handling over my DNA—the very essence of what makes me, me—to some faceless entities. Call me skeptical or even paranoid, but I just do not trust corporate and/or government bigwigs enough to believe that my DNA data will remain mine alone and that someone, somewhere is not making a buck off of all that information or using DNA in some big brotherly manner.

And it seems that I am not the only one wary about DNA and privacy. Here are several pieces on this very subject:

More Alike Than Unalike

Human Family
~by Maya Angelou

…I’ve sailed upon the seven seas
and stopped in every land,
I’ve seen the wonders of the world
not yet one common man…

…I note the obvious differences
between each sort and type,
but we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike…

Déjà Vu & DNA: How Connected Are We?

Have you ever known who was going to call right before the phone rang? Yesterday, I experienced this sort of premonition twice. First, my spouse and I were talking about our child’s upcoming soccer practice and whether or not we were going to commute together with a teammate and father. Just as we had decided that I would contact the child’s mother, our home phone rang. From the other room, I said to my spouse, “Oh, that is Mrs. M.”, right before he answered the line. It was her. “Speak of the devil,” I joked with her, “We were just talking about you.”

An hour or so later, our home phone rang again. I was sitting at the table working on my genealogical research (a common past time for me, in case you could not tell) when my spouse walked into the room, phone in hand. I said, “It’s my dad, right?” (Of course, I hadn’t heard from my father in months, busy lives and all, so how did I know? I wonder….)